Brilliant 🙂 and strangely enough I couldn’t get your last poem out of my mind and I was associating ‘cruising’ with an image of Gene Kelly (one of my favourite people in the world) in Singing in the Rain – all that dodging of traffic; and now we have the ‘Gene Kelly Tattoo’. Happy Days.

it is like yr own shadow that suddenly appears revealing a whole other world existing alongside… the wisdom is light and airy filled with oompa oompa oompa bubbles… willy wonka chocolate factory… but of course, thaz another story.. and again, a tattoo with wings…

Hey there old friend. Ya, it’s me! I finally opened up an account on this site and am completely lost lol anyhow, the poem seems to celebrate the pure joy of surprise, of the subconscious feeling before the conscious can compute, categorize, and benumb.

GingaPaul…. i just got an email from a friend of yours saying you have passed away. I’m posting in hopes that it is a misunderstanding, a mistake, a cruel joke because i simply cannot fathom a world without you and your talent and your humor in it.
Man, we had some good, good times.
And I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye.
These tears this morning belong to you.
all my love – Kota

Go where the good men go
With the roar of the tide and the colors
Of the rainbow
Be sheltered by angel’s wings
Held to the bosom of nature
Reserved for all more precious things
Gone, your leather lines of worry
At peace where good men’s souls are free
In my heart you live forever
Like blissful lines of poetry
Infinite are the winding trails
Of shooting stars we followed
I will find your voice my friend;
I know it well
Go where the good men go ~F.~

I too, am hoping that what I’ve heard is wrong. Paul, please don’t go just yet, you are too dear to leave us and I simply cannot take the loss of your friendship and continued support. You are the reason (after much nagged from you) I started my own blog and began working more seriously as a writer. You never gave me false praise, but constantly pushed me to better myself. With all of my friendship and deep respect for you, my dear good friend, Rachel Blackbirdsong

I’m so sorry to tell everyone this, but it is true and our dear friend Paul has died of an accidental fall. The funeral will probably be next week in Brisbane. Such a waste of a beautiful life, a wonderful man who I loved very much and who I will miss incredibly. This is the saddest week. Let’s hope his wonderful blog is archived permanently.

… Missing you muchly Paul and finding it hard to compose my thoughts into something coherent … I shall always remember you as a generous giver to the world of the arts and a supporter of all who sometimes struggled to find the words.

my dear friend, how you so enriched my life. your generous spirit and encouragement will never be forgotten, xxx always sweet paul, the world has lost a true genius and amazing heart, i will miss you, and never forget you, your words will live on forever

Oh Paul, why didn’t you take better care? Didn’t you know how far your love had spread? Like the great jazzman, Fritz Kreisler, were you dreaming and failed to see the danger near you? But Kreisler survived, and I wish you had survived to be with us still.

I said a couple posts ago that you were the master of “not” — of evoking the things you say are not there (“a bird not a heron” — I still see that heron flying)and now we’re left with acres and silent acres of not hearing your voice-in-words.

You wrote these beautiful poem thingys filled with wisdom and now we have to find our own wisdom, and I fear I am too poor, too wisdom poor to manage. Encourage us in memories.

“wordless the world will come and reveal itself to you …. and leaves just you, surrounded by and singing with the voice of God.”

“Because in the end you can look and look and the only available redemption is love.”

Oh Paul, I read of your death on Aletha’s blog – and I thought: No, this cannot be. How unfair, how cruel, how terrible for all the rest of us and how sad to lose your kind genius too soon. Paul, your warm words of encouragement lifted me, flattered me that one so gifted as you would deign to value what I do.

I have loved your heart, your mind, your amazing verve. I am better for knowing your work and words.

Like many of your readers, I always thought I would someday meet you in Australia, for a beer or a walk on the beach. But as you always loved to say, “Time is not linear.” So maybe — and I wish this with all my heart — I will still see you yet on the other side.

Dear Paul, Poet Laureate of the Universe — wherever you are, that phrase describes so aptly your gorgeousness of spirit. You were and will always be a true joy and blessing to all whom you touched with your wisdom and warmth and talent. RIP my friend.

His beauty dispersed
Like shrapnel lodged
Inside the minds he exploded on

His essence diluted
Like a once vast ocean forking, forking
Into individual manifold rivers, streams

Rushing, trickling
Through our trembling body.

II.

He fell from a great height, literally
Dreaming to his death

In his dream, he flew high
Above his beloved Australia
Crossing the vast plains, and dusky hills
Until finally he whisked over
An aqua-blue radiance undulating
Seemingly gliding beneath him
He graciously moved, a torrent
Brushing his rigid face
Towards that bronze haze
Of a setting sun
This was the illumination he closed on
Not some artificially constructed
Light at the end of the tunnel
Nor the synapses snapping
And neurons convulsing desperately
But that soft sky he was falling through
That sun in the imminent distance

The jagged rocks that cracked his skull
Merely awakened him to a new reality

Where the body no longer writhes in interminable pain
Longing for release

Where the Light and Warmth far-flung
Across the unfathomably dark empty universe

Coalesce.

III.

There’s a stoic in me stirring:

Do not weep, for death is inevitable
The cessation of sensation, and therefore, suffering
It should be endured magnanimously
As if it were just another autumn day

There’s a monk in me murmuring:

Death and Life are one, it is a cycle
Perpetual as the four seasons
Weep not, for you do not weep when winter
Numbs your limbs, and frosts your lips

But I am not wise enough to remain unmoved
I am not a stone or a grain of sand in a zen garden
I will sob in spite of protestations
No one rebukes the clouds for raining
Nor the rose for wilting when it snows
I will grieve selfishly and dramatically
I will pound my chest and yank my roots
I will wail like a madman in a padded cell
I will be inconsolable and pitiful
I will be the lowliest creature on earth, forlorn
I will wear black, smoke and swig all night
I will brawl for the slightest of provocations
I will stay aloof from those closest to me
I will be judged and scorned by martians
Poking and prodding, but never understanding
Truly, they will retort it’s not the first death
And I will either nod silently or spit in their faces
I will make no apologies for my tears
I will store them in a glass jar and exhibit them
Like an urn on the mantle, there, next to the tv
For everyone to see while they’re laughing at game shows.

IV.

It adds another layer
Of meaning to facts
An extra wave
That resonates
Through the body
Like a bell
It is like discovering
A new interpretation
Of an artwork
That deepens understanding
That some how amplifies
Our humanity
And one wonders
How can I have gone
So long in ignorance
How can I have staggered
Like a cripple
Feeling only the echoes
Of songs, the texture
Of dry brittle leaves
Hearing only the howling
Of the whipping wind
Seeing only the shadows
Of passing birds
Touching words
Like an illiterate fumbling
His fingers over braille
The fullness of life
Ripens only with death
Death is the space
That frames a statue
Without it, life is
Simply 2-dimensional
An object perceived, half-felt
Not a subject, wholly
Encompassing our being
For this gift bestowed
I thank you, Death. Death.

I have been choking for the past hour in disbelief. Paul, these tears are a product of your love. I hope you are in a beautiful place surrounded by people as beautiful as you were. We would truly, deeply miss you.
I still can’t believe this.
Paul, Thank you for holding my hand whenever I was down, for reminding me to smile whenever I frowned. You were a true friend. You always wanted to come one day and have tea in my garden, and I had been so looking forward to it. But we will do that on the other side.

[…] world as i know now living and breathing. i recently read of gingatao’s unexpected passing [ paul squires ] and find i am mourning. we shall all miss him terribly. i am now looking forward to seeing him […]

What the fuck Paul. Where did you go? How did this happen? I do not like this at all even though I know death is inevitable. I am overwhelmed with a grief that has not hit me yet. Even though I never met you in the flesh you occupied a space in my heart. You were my biggest fan, my greatest critic and one of my only supports. You understood my work with a literary sensibility that is so rare to come across in these mind-washed days. Fuck Paul- I am so sad that you have passed on. A fall? Well it is a literary exit for a brilliant poet such as yourself but I am really sad that you have died. I know your spirit lives, I know it is out there- I will search for you. Thank you so much for all you did for me Paul. Thank you.

I skipped into GINGATAO full of pleasure to bring pleasant news related to our meeting, only to find other sad shocking news –To all those bereaved friends and family of
the late Mr. Paul Squires, Poet and Gentleman, I send through my tears, sincere condolences of this terrible loss.
We met in the ether, and may do so another time, I hope.

I have just heard. Paul and I used to trade long, lovely emails, he was the most magical and wisest person I have known. He bought one of my paintings, the only person to do so, which I think you bought as a gift to Narni, because you didn’t care too much for possessions, a gesture I was bowled over by. I’m sorry, Paul, I’m sorry I wasn’t a better friend and that I fell out of touch with you and poetry. I can’t say anything. Goodbye Paul our frienship wasn’t virtual. You were so playful, yet you gave me doses of reality that I needed and still struggle to listen to, but I will now, and the world was a thing of wonder to you. Thank you. I hope that my habit of distance didn’t hurt or confuse you. You were a great writer, a magician, you constantly reminded us of the worth of the world and was it foolish changes in my life that meant I sometimes struggled to see it? You were supportive, you supported me in my writing and were encouraging every step of the way. We found a kinship of understanding, you knew you wanted to do your own thing, and you did that beautiful thing, and let people come to see it and understand it if they were open and wanted to. for my part, I was happy to have found you, and you, had the strength and conviction and wisdom to persevere, not like someone I know :), who let some foolish mood or phase sway his art. For you Paul, I will be a better person and friend to others. I’ll do what you many times urged me to. I will finish my book, and stop being so timid, and pick up the pen again, as I must. You imagined us meeting, wooing the girls in the gardens of England. I imagined the rich yellow beaches of Australia. If the virtual world had confused me into forgetting what was important, if I eventually knew less of what was down and up, to the detriment of our friendship, sorry. Have a nice afterlife, man. I hope it’s as cool as the world you described in your poems. I called you uncle once, you knew more than me and you had that voice. Goodbye Paul. Best wishes to Paul’s family,

Thank you,
to a master,
good bye. I am missing you,
through my tears, though you probably wouldn’t have much truck with those, for you so bravely and wisely lived a life without Regret, consider this my last email to you friend, though it’s not quite saying what I want it to.
I learnt so much from you, and will continue to learn, with your memory with me.

I have been away many Moons and return to find this. But amongst the tears are smiles too, for knowing you; in some small way. In a better place now, you rest.

Just some of the encouraging words Paul gave me. They show the sort of generous Soul he had:

‘Yes it would matter, a lot. It would make me sad and a lot of other people too because no-one can sing those songs like you do. You have a unique and beautiful voice in your poetry, even when the themes are sad. It would matter a lot because your poetry makes the world a more wonderful and beautiful place in which to live. Even this poem’,

Ditto what Jason says. and today another blogger poet emailed me and said ‘look how prophetic his last poem is’ and its true. And did you see it coming, dear Paul? I miss you very much, dear dear friend. What a beautiful difference you made in my world, your friendship and your beautiful words. Shine on you crazy diamond.

Paul, my hill tumbling friend, always tossing daisies in my hair – your friends are so beloved, keeping your memory alive and making it so you pop up regularly in my inbox, making me smile at the memories and knowing you were so well loved that you, dear, dear friend – you will never fade from our lives.
much love and happiest of birthdays
and i toss the daisies back at you
Kota

Happy, happy birthday McPaulus. I raise my glass(es) to you and hope they have good champas in the ethersphere. I’d say more but you know what they say about walls. I’d write a poem but seem to have frozen a bit – maybe later – we’ve got all day – maybe you could have a birthweek (like we do for Tessa) – her birthday was 7 days ago so we have celebrated until today – you can take over in the celebration stakes – haha.

Happy Birthday Paul. Now quiet, but still so much my friend. I tried so hard to write a poem for you today. Three attempts at making myself cry. I find it very hard to write since you’ve been gone. All of my thoughts go to, “What would Paul think?”. You were the critic that mattered the most. I love you & miss you & hope that heaven has an open mic night. Thrill them with your poetry, like you thrilled us.

Good Morning Paul. I miss getting up and reading what you wrote while I slept…thank you for leaving a rich legacy here, plenty for me to read and reread on your blog and in The Puzzle Box. I know you were working on a mss, you emailed ecstatic about how it was going. I look forward to the day that I get to hold it in my hands: it will be the passport that will take you to all those places you dreamed of. In the meantime, I take the Puzzle Box with me everywhere. Last weekend it enjoyed a camping trip under the sycamores at the beach. Last night an owl called whoo whoo and I knew it was you.

Friends of Paul, there’s an online celebration of his life going on over at the Orchid Room. It started on Paul’s Birthday, Brisbane time, and will continue today. As Paul would say, RAGE ON!

[…] of losses–Marshall’s loss of mobility (and fortunate full recovery from a broken neck), the loss of Paul Squires and my mom, the loss of my natural blonde hair and my confidence during the bizarre […]

Good morning Paul. I’ve been thinking about what kind of a question might have prompted this Gene Kelly Tattoo. It seems very much like a reply that someone like Chuang Tzu would have offered a student.

“What would you say to a poet or a philosopher who spends all of their time describing their world, then wakes up one morning to find it has changed forever?”

One year – unbelievable – part of me still thinks it’s a big McPaulus practical joke! Wishing you well wherever you may be and hope you are still creating poetry and sharing it with whoever has the pleasure of your company. Your fame continues on earth 🙂 and you are being discussed still in the blogosphere – on this very day over at one of your favourite places, the Overland Blog – haha – I’m sure that will tickle your fancy. Cheers mate.

I miss talking to you about writing and slinging lines around like splashes at a pool. Wish we could have gotten that road trip going, but it is a bit hard to hitch hike from Detroit to Oz. I’m sure you would understand that. You did understand that, but still you entertained me with the thought that such an endeavor would indeed be welcome were it possible.

To Admin

Thank you for taking care of this site and keeping here for all of us to read, as well as to come back to again and again to talk to the spirit that resides upon these pages, on these walls. I hear the piano, see the sunset and smell the breeze from wafting the dragonfly’s wings. Springtime tells us stories that smell this sweet, and so does an autumn sunset of the horizonless lake as the waves say hello and our feet see the sand for all the trillion miracles that it has always been, eyes falling only to fly high again when the old mariner’s bell rings. The light and the dark are brothers after all.

replygingatao wrote on May 18, ’08
woohoo, fantastic, is it the marvellous and wonderful Harry Belafonte? And the dancing and the gorgeous women, with hips, F.G., women just don’t have hips like that anymore, fantastical!
F. wrote on Jun 2, ’08
Ahhh, the world ain’t see no hips like them since then. She’s the reason for aviation… jump baby , jump.

The ghost of GingaPaul blows dandy-lions into my email today as someone comments here… and for a moment i really thought he’d come back to toss flowers at me as we rolled down the hill laughing. Yeah, my friend, i still cry at the great loss. ❤

Hi Tina. Sorry to read that you have quit poetry and your blog. The loss of Paul’s influence in the blogosphere has certainly had a profound and somewhat splintering effect. I do hope you will return to poetry soon, and perhaps even share some of it with us:) Happy Easter, Tina, and wishing you happiness and good health.

footsteps leading away...

“The struggle of literature is in fact a struggle to escape from the confines of language; it stretches out from the utmost limits of what can be said; what stirs literature is the call and attraction of what is not in the dictionary.”
Italo Calvino.

Thanks for visiting. Have a fantabulous day full of tiny miracles like unexpected flowers blooming,